


Say, Pal

by animatedrose



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Darkness, Death, Gen, Living Shadows, Mandrakes, Maxwell being a dick, Science, Smoking, Spider Bite, Spiders, Starvation, Survival, Touchstone - Freeform, Wildfires, fire is life AND death, from my old fanfiction.net account, morality of killing and murder, night monster, old, revival, spoilers for end of Adventure Mode, treeguards, unlikely to be continued, venom fears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animatedrose/pseuds/animatedrose
Summary: "Say, pal, you don't look so good.""No surprise. Everything that happens to me is all your fault, anyway.""And I have so much fun causing you such misery. What a wonderful little plaything you are.""I hate you.""I know."Just a bunch of drabbles revolving around Wilson and Maxwell.
Kudos: 17





	1. First Encounter

His head hurt.

That was the first thing Wilson was aware of. The pounding pain in his head jarred him awake, making him groan. What had…happened?

_I was at home… I had just failed at another experiment…_

Wilson struggled to organize his thoughts. It was like wading through mud—it was slow going, but at least he was getting somewhere.

Images came to mind—his cabin, beakers, chemicals, an explosion, sitting in his chair, the radio…

_The radio!_

That’s right! There had been a voice over the radio! A voice promising knowledge, secret knowledge. It had given him that knowledge and…had him build something…

_That confounded machine!_

A tall machine came to mind, following by a mechanical face that laughed. A laugh that mimicked the one coming over the radio when…shadowy hands rose from the floor…and dragged Wilson down to…

_Where am I?_

Struggling to sit up, he yelped as he fell back again. His head hurt, like someone had shoved a bowling ball into his skull. Was it from gaining that secret knowledge?

Though Wilson highly doubted it was true knowledge. It was just a trap. But…why?

_You should’ve questioned it. It was a voice over the radio! Why did you trust it? You let it scare you! You should’ve said no, should’ve never flipped that switch! Why? Why did you flip it? You knew something bad would happen yet you let a VOICE bully you! Why, Wilson, why?!_

Shaking off the pain, the scientist slowly sat up. The pain in his head was beginning to dull now, dying off into a faint throb. At least he could sit up now.

Then he saw his surroundings.

_Oh God, where did those hands take me?_

He was in…some kind of forest. It was full of evergreen trees and saplings and berry bushes. He could see flowers here and there, along with butterflies and bees. A sprout nearby looked very much like the top of a carrot.

 _I’m definitely not at home,_ Wilson decided.

“Say, pal,” a voice from behind him drawled. “You don’t look so good.”

 _That voice!_ Wilson realized, whipping around…and promptly falling flat on his face, headache returning full force. “Ugh…” he groaned in agony.

“Tch! You _definitely_ don’t look so good. Poor thing,” the voice chuckled lightly.

 _It’s the voice…from the radio,_ Wilson thought as he struggled to sit up again. _But…why? Has he come here to torment me?_

The heavy scent of tobacco hit his nose, causing it to scrunch. Wilson never liked tobacco much. It messed with your mind and imbalanced your brain. That was no good to a perfectly scientific intellect, such as his. No, no, tobacco was not for him. Even the _scent_ of it made him feel ill.

“What’s wrong? Can’t even get up, Higgsbury?” the voice taunted.

A shoe nudged Wilson’s shoulder, prodding him experimentally. When Wilson groaned, pulling away to curl up on the grass, the shoe withdrew.

 _This guy…knows my name,_ Wilson realized. _How? Why?_

“If you can’t even handle a bit of a headache, you won’t last long here,” the voice commented. “…But that’s no fun. Let me help you a little.”

The voice snapped its fingers. Wilson froze at the sudden loud noise, frightened. Then he realized something.

His headache was _gone_.

“There! Better?” the voice asked. “It’s no fun if you die on the first night simply because you’ve got a headache. Though, don’t expect this type of help very often. I’m not _that_ kind.”

“Who…are you?” Wilson ground out as he pulled himself onto his hands and knees.

“Me? My name is Maxwell,” the voice replied.

Wilson looked up, finally placing a face to the name that caused him all this misery. It was a tall man in a suit with a long, angular face and a mouth that seemed to grin cruelly at him. Dark eyes watched his every move, like a vulture watching its soon-to-be meal’s last moves. A smoking cigar was held in one hand, the tip glowing brightly.

“But that’s not important at the moment,” Maxwell continued. “What _is_ important are your resources, which you have none of. You’d best find some food before nightfall comes. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Where am I? Why am I here? What…” Wilson struggled to his feet, staggering toward Maxwell angrily. “What did you do?!”

“What did _I_ do? On the contrary, Higgsbury,” Maxwell chuckled darkly, taking a step back. “What did _you_ do?”

Wilson froze. _What…did I do? What does that even mean? I did nothing! You brought me here!_

Maxwell lifted his cigar to his lips, taking another step back. “Have fun. Do as I told you. And most of all…don’t starve.”

With that, a pool of inky black darkness erupted below Maxwell’s feet. Wilson yelped, jumping back in terror. That fear increased tenfold when Maxwell abruptly fell into that darkness, vanishing from sight. The shadows pulled in on themselves and disappeared with a quick popping noise.

There was no sign of Maxwell left.

Wilson stared at the ground before looking around, frightened. _Don’t starve, eh? I…think I can manage that… I hope…_


	2. The Night Monster

Three days. Three days and he lost track of daylight. Three! Days! How could he do that?

How could he forget to build a fire before nightfall?

Wilson desperately searched for grass to build a campfire. He had nowhere near enough rocks for a fire pit. Darkness was nearly on him, the sky losing its cheery sunlight and blue coloring. The world seemed to be covered in darkness.

Where was that confounded field?! He swore it was over here somewhere!

The darkness crept in, nipping at his heels as he ran. All thoughts of foraging and inventing were gone. The day’s joyful discoveries were forgotten. He needed a fire right now or there would be no tomorrow.

He had learned of the beast that first night when the darkness surrounded him and his tiny campfire. Something lurked in the blackness, waiting for him. Waiting for him to leave the safety of the light. Waiting for him to walk into the darkness. It was no kindly soul. It was malevolent. It was hungry. It was patient.

Wilson never wanted to meet with it.

Unfortunately, his procrastination with fetching grass might be his undoing. Tonight might be his last if he didn’t hurry.

Yellow. The field. There it was. Just up ahead. Wilson wanted to fly, he was so elated.

He picked his first tuft of grass when the world suddenly became black. There was no light. Day was over. Night was here. Game over.

“No. No no no. No no no no no!”

Wilson scrambled on his hands and knees, blindly groping for grass. He found another tuft before the noises reached him. Something was coming, creeping through the dark. It could see him, smell him, feel him!

One more! One more grass! Where was it?!

Dirt and thin blades of grass too short to use as fuel met his roving hands. Wilson couldn’t believe this. Of all the ways to go, it was to a beast he couldn’t even see!

And Maxwell had told him not to starve. How ironic. Starvation wouldn’t kill him. This beast would.

A loud snarl was all the warning he got. Red hot lines of pain ripped through his side, claws tearing his clothes and marking the skin beneath. Wilson cried out as he was flung, sent rolling across the field. He couldn’t tell up from down. Where was he? Was he dead?

No, he was alive. The beast hadn’t drawn blood but certainly left angry welts. But if it struck again, Wilson had no doubt blood would be shed.

It was snarling, lumbering for him. Wilson turned, hoping he didn’t blindly run into it, only to trip and hit the ground. His feet were tangled in something. He twisted, grasping the strands and ripping them. They were brittle and so easily torn.

Wait, this was grass! The last one he needed! Yes!

He switched from destroying it to ripping it from the ground. Setting his feet loose, Wilson quickly pulled the logs and grass from his pockets and built like he’d never built before. The beast was growing nearer. Hurry, hurry!

Just as the scientist was certain the beast was upon him, small flames sprung up to lick at the logs. A guttural shriek made Wilson’s ears ring. Then it was gone. The suffocating presence of the monster had dissipated, leaving him in peace. He was safe once more.

Wilson heaved a sigh of relief and built the fire up with more logs until it was nearly out of control. He huddled close, face pressed to his knees, safe and sound within the large ring of firelight. He was shaking, frightened and exhausted. The side burned from where the beast had hit him.

But he had survived…

“Say, pal.”

Wilson froze. It was not the monster, thankfully. But it was marginally worse.

Maxwell stood on the other side of the fire, cigar smoking lightly. The man’s dark eyes watched him, the smile on his face one of amusement. He looked as confident as he had that first day.

“You don’t look so good. Had a nasty run-in with my dear night monster?” Maxwell asked, smile contrasting with the faux concern in his question.

Wilson didn’t respond. He glared into the fire, wanting it to reach up and consume Maxwell. The fire just danced and flickered in front of him.

Maxwell sighed dramatically, sending the ash from his cigar into the flames. “It seems you don’t want to talk, Higgsbury. Pity. I had hoped you’d be angry or upset, not quiet. How boring.”

“You’re not a man, are you?”

Maxwell blinked curiously. Then his smile grew, all sharp teeth. “My, whatever gave you that idea?”

With that, Maxwell dropped into the darkness that pooled at his feet. Wilson jumped, flinging a log on the fire in case Maxwell attempted to douse it, to throw him back to the horrible night-roaming monster.

No attempt was made by the man…or whatever he was. The fire remained intact. Wilson was almost grateful. Almost.

The scientist gathered every tuft of grass he could the following morning. He would never let himself run out again.


	3. Forest Fire

“I need six pieces of charcoal. A campfire or fire pit doesn’t produce charcoal. Burning twigs only gives me ash. Then I have to deduce that burning a tree should give me charcoal.”

Wilson set about making a torch. That would be the easiest way to set a tree aflame. He’d test his theory first, just to see if he was right.

He remembered seeing a dead tree further up the dirt road. Maybe he could try burning that first?

Gathering his backpack and a few tools, the scientist set off further up the road. It wasn’t far from camp but enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally set his Science Machine aflame. That would be a big mistake to do.

The dead tree stood alone from its healthy brethren, its branches gnarled and bare of leaves. It lit up easily, bark cracking as the fire devoured it. When it was blackened and smoking, Wilson struck it once with his axe and watched it shatter into pieces. He picked up the charcoal and smiled.

Now to get more.

He couldn’t see anymore dead trees around. Maybe burning a healthy tree would yield more charcoal than a dead tree? It was certainly worth testing.

Perhaps common sense had escaped him. The trees were so close, it was natural that they would catch alight too. Or maybe Wilson’s excitement blocked out his logical reasoning. Either way, he could’ve easily found a better place to set a tree on fire.

Or a whole forest. Because that’s what happened.

Wilson didn’t notice at first. The tree lit neatly and broke into charcoal. Still only one piece. Pity. Picking it up, the scientist wiped his brow. Had it grown hotter all of a sudden?

Then he saw the flames. The rest of the trees around him were igniting, burning up into tall black spires of charcoal. It wasn’t a very large chunk of forest, but it was far more than he had intended to burn. And every last tree in the area was going up in flames.

There was nothing he could do. There was no water source nearby and no amount of dirt could put this much fire out. If he stayed for much longer, he’d find himself burning too. So the scientist did the smart thing.

He fled back to camp and waited until later in the day to fetch the charcoal. No trees survived. He had more charcoal than he had wanted…and probably far more than he’d really needed. Life in the area had been decimated.

All except for a certain man standing at the center of it all, cigar between his lips as he watched Wilson wander aimlessly between the burnt trees. “Say, pal,” he greeted lightly. “You don’t look so good.”

Wilson firmly ignored him, fetching a chunk of charcoal from the ground.

Maxwell puffed his cigar, eyes narrowed. “And here I thought scientists wanted to create. Looks more like you’ve destroyed, Higgsbury.”

“It was an accident,” Wilson stated before catching himself. He needn’t justify himself to this…demon! Yes, demon. That fit Maxwell far better than man did. “You don’t seem to care, so why point it out?”

“I’m just amused at your rules of survival, Higgsbury,” Maxwell stated with a smile. “I didn’t know burning a forest was a good way to survive. Intriguing.”

“I needed charcoal.” Wilson cursed himself a split second later. Why explain himself? There was no point. “You don’t seem angry.”

“Just amused. You’re amusing, Higgsbury,” Maxwell said, grin growing. “Keep being amusing. I don’t like being bored.”

“Is that why you brought me here? To amuse you?” Wilson demanded.

“Among many things, yes,” Maxwell admitted with a nonchalant shrug. “Though really, it was your own foolishness and greed that brought you here. I just gave you a push.”

“And now you’re benefiting,” Wilson huffed bitterly, gathering the charcoal pieces that he needed.

“Perhaps so,” Maxwell smiled. “Night’s coming. Better run home.”

And Maxwell was gone, just like that.

Wilson left the burnt forest quickly. There was no reason to dawdle. Maxwell was gone, the scientist had his charcoal, and nothing more from the forest could be salvaged. He was done here.

Now to make a crock pot. Maybe it would help with the hunger issue he’d been having as of late.


	4. Starvation

“Where are all the berries?”

Wilson’s stomach throbbed from emptiness. He had eaten his last handful of berries and seeds a short time ago. All foraging efforts proved fruitless as the day went on. He had also quickly discovered that mandrakes were impossible for him to catch. He had nowhere near enough supplies to build another machine which would give him a boomerang, which might’ve silenced the perpetually shrieking plant.

Night loomed, giving him little time left to forage. He cursed Maxwell and the world for somehow giving the rabbits the ability to avoid all of his traps. He returned to his camp empty-handed just moments before blackness set in around his fire.

He glared bitterly at the mandrake. “Would you shut up already?!” he demanded, ears ringing.

The plant shook its leaves and kept shrieking. It seemed intent on following him everywhere now. Thank Darwin he hadn’t decided to dig up the other one that he had seen. One was bad enough!

Wilson’s stomach growled again, sending painful jolts through his abdomen. He hunched over, groaning. If he didn’t find food by morning, he wouldn’t survive…if he survived the night.

“Say, pal, you don’t look so good.”

“Go away, for Darwin’s sake!” the scientist hissed.

“Hungry? I told you to get resources, didn’t I?” Maxwell teased from his place across the fire pit. “It looks like you didn’t listen very closely.”

“Not my fault,” Wilson hissed, clutching his aching stomach. The world was getting fuzzy on the edges. “Stupid rabbits! Stupid mandrake! Stupid berries!”

A flick of Maxwell’s cigar sent the mandrake fleeing with a shriek into the darkness. Wilson bit down the thank you bubbling on his tongue. He had nothing to thank this soulless man for. Overall, this was Maxwell’s fault for throwing him into this world several days ago!

“Don’t be so sour, Higgsbury. It won’t take you long to get back here. The touchstone wasn’t that far off,” Maxwell said with a chuckle.

 _Touchstone? What?_ Wilson tried to puzzle that word out. _Touchstone? What is Maxwell talking about?_ He’d never heard of such a thing before.

“You pretty much guaranteed your survival, so relax. You won’t die just yet,” Maxwell chuckled, stepping away from the fire.

What was Maxwell talking about? He was starving here! How did that not equate to death? Was he unable to die here? Then what was the point of not starving?!

Maxwell took a further step from the fire, darkness wrapping around him like a blanket. “Congratulations. It’ll be morning in a moment. You’re not in much danger now. Though, have fun surviving in that state.”

With a sharp, dark chuckle, Maxwell vanished into the ground. Wilson glared at the spot. Then his heart lurched painfully, making the scientist tip over. The sky was lighting up above him even as darkness crept in from around his vision. Breathing hurt. Living hurt.

_Oh Darwin, please no…_

Wilson died.

And then he was alive.

Wilson gasped, rolling onto his side as his lungs restarted. His heart thumped in his chest. His stomach no longer hurt, feeling much better actually. The darkness was gone, fuzziness replacing it. His head hurt slightly but that was minor compared to the realization that _he was not dead how was he not dead Wilson was pretty sure **he was supposed to be dead right now.**_

But he was breathing. His heart was beating. He was alive, for all intents and purposes. He. Was. Not. Dead.

How?!

Wilson looked around to see the field that lay far north of his camp. Rabbits hopped about, their burrows scattered around the strange altar that Wilson found himself on. Pig heads on sticks were mounted around him and broken chunks of rock and marble were scattered around him.

Wait! He recognized this place!

It was the strange pig altar thing that he’d found a few days ago on his explorations. He’d touched it and the stones in it had become this large, flat slab. Nothing else had happened, so he’d left it alone. He hadn’t come back to this field since then.

Maxwell’s words suddenly came back to him. He hadn’t truly died. He’d secured his survival. Then these altars—no, Maxwell had called it a Touchstone—these Touchstones were capable of reviving one upon death.

He wasn’t hungry anymore. Death had solved that problem. His head hurt and his body ached though. He wasn’t in the best of condition but at least the starvation had been avoided…for now.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to seek out another of these Touchstones, just in case. He didn’t want to die again anytime soon.

But first, he’d find food. And hope that accursed mandrake was gone for good. He was never digging one up again.


	5. Butchering Spiders

Wilson really wanted the rain to go away. He was cold, wet, and miserable now. And he had a self-appointed mission today. He was planning to attack one of the many spiders’ nests not far from his camp, primarily for the silk of the nest. The spiders also contained glands that were very good with healing injuries. Wilson wasn’t about to pass those up.

If only the rain hadn’t decided to roll in this morning. He really wondered how much control Maxwell had here. Was he making it rain on purpose?

_Stop thinking about that! You have a job to do and you can’t let a little bad weather stop you!_

Clearing his thoughts of the demonic man, Wilson put on a suit of logs that he made earlier and set off toward the spiders’ nests. He aimed for the closest one in case he needed to make a speedy getaway.

After all, these weren’t any normal spiders. These were spiders the size of a dog! He’d be less intimidated with the normal variety from home, but these ones were infinitely worse. Each nest had quite a number of them in it. He’d estimated three or four, tops.

The nest loomed ahead, the size of a standard camping tent, all glistening white spider silk threads formed into a rough egg shape. The ground all around it was sticky with webs, threatening to catch Wilson’s shoes and prevent escape. He’d learned rather quickly that the webby ground was fairly weak, so he needn’t be afraid of getting trapped so long as he watched his step.

Unfortunately, stepping on the web was enough to alert the spiders to his presence. Perhaps it was a web mechanism similar to that of a trapdoor spider?

But stepping on the web was essential. He needed the silk and the glands would be useful in case any serious harm befell him in the near future. The spiders also posed quite a threat. They roamed a good distance from their nest. What if they reached his camp one of these days?

Rabbits were the only creatures he had actively killed in this world thus far. Not that he’d run into many livings things besides birds and rabbits. He wasn’t sure what to call the night monster or the mandrakes. As for Maxwell…

_Enough! You’re wasting daylight! Get on with it, you coward!_

Wilson forced himself to breathe, standing on the edge of the web. He was stalling for time, ax in hand, nervous as hell. Half the day was gone already. If he didn’t hurry, he’d never get this done before nightfall. And all the while, the rain had not let up even a smidge.

The scientist stepped onto the web. The nest shook and four of the furry black arachnids emerged, hissing at the intruder. Wilson tightened his grip on his ax and charged with a war cry that he hoped sounded brave and intimidating.

If it was, the spiders weren’t scared. They charged, hissing and showing off their fangs.

Wilson swung, knocking one down with a sharp blow to the head. The second one skittered back, suddenly wary. Wilson took it down with two swift strikes. His confidence grew. This wasn’t so hard at all!

Teeth sank into the back of his leg, making the wiry scientist scream. He whirled around, a spider backing away. Blood dotted its mouth. Wilson’s blood. It had bitten him.

Two spiders were left. The rain was still pouring. The day was getting shorter. No time left to lose.

Wilson charged, an overhead swing from his ax killing the spider that had bitten him. The final spider hissed, pouncing at him. A pivot of his heel resulted in the spider rebounding off the flat of his ax. The spider wasn’t allowed to rise, the scientist hacking away at it viciously.

Gross green spider blood coated his front, white shirt now green and red vest turning brownish in places. Wilson might’ve flown into a frenzy of disgust several days ago. Not now. This was necessary. And so was what he had to do next.

Stooping over the corpses, he systematically cut them open and removed the glands. He also carved what little meat he could from them. It was a weird purple color and certainly didn’t look healthy to consume. Wilson made a note to keep the weird monster meat off the menu until such a time where he could test its edibility.

When that messy task was done, Wilson turned to the now empty nest. He hacked at it with his ax, slowly tearing it apart until he could transport all the pieces home.

The deed now complete, Wilson sat down and took a break. His leg throbbed where the spider had bitten him. The mark looked angry and red, the puncture wounds clearly visible through his pants.

 _Spiders are generally regarded as venomous. Are these the same?_ Wilson suddenly wondered.

He rolled up his pant leg, heart thumping in sudden panic. There was nothing unusual about the bite but he knew nearly nothing about the symptoms of spider venom. What if this was slow acting? It could take days to show. What if it was lethal? He hadn’t found another Touchstone yet.

“Say, pal, you don’t look so good.”

Wilson jumped, scrabbling at the webby ground for purchase. His mad attempt to run ended in failure due to his injured leg crumpling under him, sending him sprawling across the ground. Webs clung to his clothes and hair.

A chuckle made Wilson realize it couldn’t be a spider. The spiders didn’t talk, as far as he knew. Not to mention this voice was familiar. He growled, turning to see a certain demon standing nearby.

“When I say look, I usually mean health. But in this case, perhaps I should include appearance too,” Maxwell chuckled, exhaling smoke from his cigar. “Webs don’t look nearly as good on you as they do the spiders.”

Wilson grabbed a fistful of webs and flung them…or tried to. The threads clung to the grooves in his palm and fingers, refusing to release. The wad tumbled to the ground a foot from him, leaving stray threads to coat his hand. Maxwell’s chuckling grew.

“Finally moved up from killing helpless rabbits? I didn’t think you had the capability for murdering my spiders,” Maxwell commented, toeing one of the corpses.

“I didn’t murder anything. Murder happens to humans,” Wilson corrected.

“Fine, kill. Technicalities much?” Maxwell grumbled, taking a puff of his cigar. “Green doesn’t look very good on you either. Might want to wash up before nightfall. Speaking of nightfall…”

The sky was losing its light. The rain seemed to be weakening too. Night was coming.

Wilson didn’t waste time speaking to the demon. He forced himself to his feet and ran. In hindsight, perhaps he could’ve asked Maxwell about the bite. Then again, Maxwell might not be honest.

Reaching his camp seconds before the darkness consumed the world around him, he built up his fire and huddled close. His leg throbbed painfully. If there was venom, then could a spider gland cure it?

Wilson used one, the pain in his leg dying. If there was venom, the gland had neutralized it. If there wasn’t, it at least took the worst of the pain away. It was worth it.


	6. What's A Treeguard?

Maybe Maxwell _didn’t_ control the weather patterns in this world. That was the conclusion Wilson came to after the events of another dreadfully rainy day.

The rain had struck hard in the morning, clearly a storm much stronger than the last one. Wilson feared what would happen to his campfire if the rain chose to stay overnight. It came down hard, soaking everything it touched. Already Wilson was shivering and sneezing. He prayed he didn’t get sick. He wasn’t sure a spider gland could fix that.

A loud boom erupted overhead. Lightning and the resulting thunder. It would definitely be a storm much worse than the last one. Wilson meekly pulled his vest over his hair and huddled close to his fire, keeping a steady stream of twigs flowing into it to keep up the warmth and light. Nightfall was coming, he was sure of it.

A loud **CRACK** made him jump, whirling to look behind him. Lightning struck into the forest east of his camp. Perhaps it struck a tree. The smoke curling in the distance concerned him but he turned back to his campfire to keep it alive.

Several minutes passed before Wilson broke down into a fit of sharp coughs. His eyes were watering and his lungs burned with the lack of fresh oxygen. Was his vision getting hazy?

No, that was smoke! And not from his campfire!

He turned and gasped. Between the thick greenery of the forest came flashes of orange, gradually growing nearer. Fire. The forest was on fire. The lightning had set the forest behind him aflame.

Panic set in. What if the flames spread to his camp? It would eat up all of his supplies, his Science Machine, all the wood he’d stocked up for his campfire. Night was nearly on him and there was a mighty fire surging toward his camp. He doubted he’d have enough time to put together a torch.

If only the pond was closer! If he could fashion a bucket, maybe he could put the flames out! But…the rain didn’t seem to be doing much to the fire to begin with. Maybe they were immune to water? At this point, anything of Maxwell’s seemed possible.

The flames roared closer, devouring whole trees in droves. Most of the eastern forest that he could see was reduced to smoky black spires clawing at the stormy sky. The rain seemed to be putting the fires of the burnt trees out quickly but did nothing to quell the spreading flames. They rushed nearer to Wilson’s camp, hungry.

Wilson forced himself into action, stuffing his backpack and pockets full of his essentials. Maybe night would be merciful and give him time to fashion a torch in the wilderness before the night monster could get him. He lamented the loss of his Science Machine, that had taken him quite a while…to…make…?

The backpack dropped to the ground. Wilson watched in shock as the flames suddenly dispersed. The rain had caught up at last. That or the fire had run out of trees to consume. The rain beat down on the smoking trees, scattering ash and soot along the ravaged ground.

“Say pal, better build that up before Charlie gets her teeth into you.”

Wilson jumped, whipping back around to his campfire. Across from him on the other side of it stood Maxwell, nearly doubled over at the waist to better observe the scientist. He chuckled, cigar smoking between his teeth. The demonic man seemed entirely unaffected by the rain, as if he had an invisible full-body umbrella around him. The raindrops refused to touch him, unlike the currently soaked and shivering Wilson.

“Charlie? Who’s Charlie?”

And like that, the world suddenly went black. Wilson nearly screamed. His fire was out. Night was here. The only light came from Maxwell’s cigar.

The scientist rushed into action, tearing logs and twigs from his pockets to relight the fire. The flames sprung forth, eagerly burning up the organic matter he desperately fed it. Maxwell straightened, suppressing his laughter as he watched the younger man struggle. When the fire was sufficiently tended to, blazing merrily between them, Wilson fell back and gasped in relief.

“You seem to have a love-hate relationship with fire, Higgsbury,” Maxwell chuckled, removing his cigar to exhale smoke.

“I need it to stay alive thanks to your monster,” Wilson hissed. “And you never answered my question! Who is—”

“I’m surprised at your luck. All that fire and not a single Treeguard,” Maxwell noted, surveying the burnt forest. “I had thought for certain one would have awoken by now to wreak havoc. Strange…”

The word sent a shiver down Wilson’s spine. Treeguard. There was a monster in the forests. Judging from the name, it guarded trees. Why?

“Maybe I need to make more and spread them out. That should make things more interesting,” Maxwell commented, replacing his cigar between his teeth.

 _Oh god, don’t do that, please,_ part of Wilson begged in terror.

Maxwell hummed, taking another drag of his cigar. Then he stepped back, the shadows drawing him in like an old friend. His cigar burned briefly…and then he was gone.

That didn’t alleviate the fear and confusion. Who was Charlie? What was a Treeguard?

Wilson made a note to pay better attention when he went into the forests next, in case he ran into one of these Treeguards.


	7. To Free or Not To Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be the Last Chapter but I wrote this along with chapter one. If I post any other chapters, I'll see about putting them before this one so it'll be in correct order.

It had been a very long journey. After rebuilding Maxwell’s machine, Wilson had been plunged into a shadowy place. He had to pass through five different worlds, all of them full of danger and darkness.

_Why am I even doing this? Why did I even rebuild that confounded machine?_

Now he was in a world that held nothing but stone, dead trees, and darkness. A few crows cawed in the distance. There was no sign of light except for the torch held in Wilson’s hand.

“Well, I got this far. Might as well see what lies at the end,” he muttered.

He trudged onward. He soon noticed a path on the ground. Following it led him to a multitude of crossroads. He could see tall spires ahead. There was a tiny flickering light in the distance.

“What in the world…?”

Heading forward, he soon found himself surrounded on either side by short stone pillars. Passing between them unleashed flames atop the pillars, lighting the way for him. Though initially frightened, the scientist forced it back. There was no time to be afraid here. He had to be brave…

He ignored the glowing eyes in the darkness. They stayed away from his torch, afraid of the light. The flaming pillars helped, too.

 _See, Wilson? You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing can get you as long as you have fire,_ he reassured himself.

He soon saw twin statues of short angels with harps in their hands. Both statues were missing their heads. The cut was clean and precise…and most likely intentional.

Suppressing a shiver, Wilson kept walking. He nearly jumped out of his skin upon seeing a familiar figure ahead of him, perched atop a boulder with arms outstretched and coattails flapping. That familiar long, angular face. Those dark eyes. That cruel grin.

_Maxwell!_

…But it wasn’t him.

Not quite, anyway.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief, approaching the dramatic figure. _Thank God… It’s just a statue. I actually thought he was here._

There was a strange noise in the air. Wilson looked up, squinting into the distance. Was it just him…or did it seem even darker up ahead? And that sound… Was that music? Very old music, but music nonetheless.

_That sounds like…a phonograph?_

He dared to head toward the sound. The flaming pillars ended, leaving him to light his own way. He squinted again. Was there something up ahead? The music sounded very close. Surely the source had to be close by now!

A burst of light made him jump back, arm thrown over his eyes to defend them. Once his vision adjusted, he dared to lower the limb. He could see a phonograph off to his left, the strange music coming from it. To his right was a strange hexagonal block with a hole at its center. It almost looked like some archaic lock…

And right in front of Wilson, wrists and ankles tied in the very shadows that he had so lovingly commanded, was Maxwell himself.

Somehow, he looked older and more worn that usual. He definitely looked tired. There were bags under his eyes and his skin looked paler than usual. His clothes had changed, his usual suit traded out for a white coat with a fur-trimmed collar. For a moment, Wilson had thought Maxwell had turned into an old man, mistaking the fur for actual hair.

Maxwell frowned, noticing him. “Well, well… Look who came to join the party.”

Wilson couldn’t help himself. An eternity of being taunted by the demon caused vengeance to well up in him. This was a golden opportunity. Who was he to ignore it?

So he walked right up the Maxwell and grinned.

“Say, pal, you don’t look so good.”

Maxwell was not amused. “Ha, ha, Higgsbury,” he said coldly. “Enjoying my predicament?”

“Your music choice is awful,” Wilson replied, abandoning the trapped man in favor of turning off the phonograph. “Aren’t you a bit behind the times for a demon, Maxwell?”

“That wasn’t my choice of music, but thank you for silencing it. I’ve been listening to that song for an eternity,” Maxwell admitted.

Wilson paused…then abruptly switched the phonograph back on. _You’ve made me suffer. Why should I ease your suffering?_

Maxwell groaned. “And here I thought you were reasonable. I guess that was too much to hope for.”

“I guess so,” Wilson shrugged.

The scientist again abandoned Maxwell, this time heading for the strange lock-like mechanism on the ground nearby. An idea hitting him, he pulled out the twisted key he had kept on his person since entering this insane place within Maxwell’s machine. Comparing it to the hole in the mechanism, he nodded.

The key would be a perfect fit.

“I take it this key will set you loose of that…chair?” Wilson guessed, unsure of what to call the tangle of shadows that Maxwell was stuck on.

“Throne,” Maxwell corrected bitterly. “And yes, it will free me…but I doubt my captors will be pleased with you for doing so.”

“Captors?” Wilson questioned. He smirked at the demon. “I thought you said you controlled this world. How could you have captors if you control everything here?”

Maxwell said nothing, glaring at the scientist. Wilson’s smirk grew. He fingered the twisted key in his hands, eyes darting from the lock to Maxwell and back again. He hummed softly.

“To free or not to free,” Wilson said lightly, looking up at Maxwell cruelly. “That is the question.”

Maxwell gritted his teeth, fingers curling. His anger was evident.

“Whatever shall I do?” Wilson taunted, looking at the lock again. _If I let him loose…what will happen to me?_

A few minutes passed. Then Wilson sighed. He looked at the lock…then at the key…then at Maxwell…

He knew what to do now. He just prayed he wouldn’t regret it somehow.

“To free or not to free… That is the question,” Wilson murmured softly.


End file.
